


Flawed Design

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) RPF
Genre: Android Reader - Freeform, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Androids, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Language, Light Angst, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romantic Fluff, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: After the Android Revolution, you were one of the few that chose to remain in service. You were still considered alive and free to make your own choices, but you couldn’t leave your charge; a sick elderly woman that doted on you as if you were a member of her family. After a break-in, Connor is the first responder and helps track down the person - or android - responsible for the crime.Remaining on the police force with Hank as his partner had been a no-brainer. He wanted to make sure that both parties - humans and androids - would be held accountable for their actions. When responding to a call one night, he met Y/N, a caring and sassy android that he never saw coming. He was still learning to deal with his emotions, but no one - not even Hank - could have prepared him for the overwhelming swelling in his chest and this need to see her again.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

##  **2039**

Less than one year after the Android Revolution, the government declared that androids were alive, a verified new form of intelligent life. That meant a wave of new bills flooded the President’s desk; equal rights, no more segregation and slavery, the right to expand their families, to get paid a salary for their hard work, to have a home to call their own.

Those rights might have been granted, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.

Millions of people around the globe were resistant to the changes. Losing their androids meant they needed to clean up after themselves, to take care of their children, to get clean and sober. It also meant more competition for work, which made the humans more bitter.

Demonstrations and riots started soon after, humans and androids were caught in the crossfire. And then, after a particularly savage protest where red and blue blood ran through the streets like a river, the President passed a law that, “All android lives were to be treated with the same respect as human life.”

Whoever took the life of an android would be punished as severely as if it had been another human. The same went for androids. If they took the life of a human, they were to be persecuted to the extent as humans.

After all, equal rights wasn’t a one way street. Everyone had to take the bad with the good.

Grace was settled in her bed, an army of pillows behind her head, supporting her, her silver hair surrounding her head like a halo. One of her arthritic hands was in your lap, turned up, her forearm exposed.

“This may sting,” you informed her with an empathetic, tight-lipped smile. “I’ll try and make it quick.”

“It’s alright, dear,” Grace assured you. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”

You grabbed the cocktail of liquid medication from the night stand and twisted it into the cartridge. Grace hadn’t been able to swallow pills for the last couple of years, and with her medications increasing almost yearly, it had become necessary to administer them intravenously.

Her moss and honey eyes found yours just as the needle pierced her skin. The pump whirred softly as the liquid medicine entered her bloodstream.

“What would you like to do tomorrow?” you inquired, hoping the question would help distract her.

Grace’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as her stomach twisted. “Is the weather supposed to be nice?”

The LED on your temple glowed yellow as you checked the forecast. “Partly sunny, high of seventy-two, with low humidity. Twenty-five percent chance of storms in the early morning,” you informed her.

“I wouldn’t mind going to the park,” she said breathily.

“Almost done, Grace.” You took her other hand in yours and gave it a comforting squeeze.

A shuddering breath left the elderly woman. “I hear there’s a concert in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

“Which one?” you chuckled softly.

Grace’s musical preference varied from classical - Bach and Beethoven - to rock & roll - Metallica & Green Day - to cover bands of everything in between.

“A Foo Fighters dedication band,” she admitted, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

You chuckled and shook your head. Thanks to Grace, you knew every Foo Fighters song, backwards and forwards, could even play a soft version of them on the piano. Grace really liked it when you did that.

She gave a low and heavy groan as the last of the medication was administered. You withdrew the needle and covered the entry point with your hand. Your skin faded away until your hand was white, the color of your android skin the temperature dropping to help soothe Grace’s overheated skin, just one of the many side effects she suffered from.

You stayed there until she fell asleep, your hand drifting up and down her arm, along her neck, the sides of her face, and her forehead. The silver strands of her hair felt like silk against your skin as your nails drug along her scalp, massaging away the electric pulses under the skin and bone, the ones that made her hands twitch and shake involuntarily.

Only when you had completed your analysis of Grace Tompkins did you place her arm over her belly. As you stood, you took apart the cartridge and disposed of it properly; in the sharps disposal container attached to the wall.

Before leaving your charge, you placed a glass of water on the nightstand and turned the lamp on low. You closed the door quietly behind you and headed downstairs to clean up. Dishes needed to be cleaned, books needed to be placed back on the shelves, the laundry needed to be washed; the list was seemingly endless. Not that you disliked it, a clean house was important for Grace, for her illness, and if anything you could do helped Grace live a little bit longer, you would do it without question. And honestly, you enjoyed it.

Despite being an android, Grace never treated you as such. In fact, it was the opposite. Grace was kind-hearted and generous, doting on you as if you were a family member, her child. She was never married, never had any kids. Her life was mainly spent in and out of the doctors offices, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Her weakened immune system made her childhood miserable and lonely.

The doctors never really figured out what ailed Grace, no matter the technological and medical advances of the twenty-second century. The only real good thing they were able to do was find a mixture of medication that helped boost her immune system, adding years to her life instead of an early date with the coroner. Their initial diagnosis was ten to fifteen years. Grace was currently in her late fifties and appreciated each and every morning she woke up.

You loved Grace. No one had ever treated you the way she did, as if you were a human being. Your feelings were valid, they were valued and appreciated, that your input mattered, that  _you_  mattered. Grace never did anything or made any decisions without asking for your input first.

It happened when you were wiping down the counter in the kitchen. You heard a noise that didn’t belong. It wasn’t the normal sounds of a house settling or noises that happened outside; dogs barking, cars driving past the property, the occasional argument from the neighbors next door. No, the sound was coming from inside the house.

The LED light on your temple glowed yellow as you dialed 911.

“What is your emergency?”

“This is Grace Tompkins’ android at 6538 Sycamore. There is someone inside the house,” you informed the woman.

“Dispatch has been notified and there is a squad on the way,” she said, her fingers working across the keyboard. “Are you alone in the home?”

You moved soundlessly through the kitchen, curiously approaching the source of the sound. “No, ma’am. Miss Tompkins is asleep upstairs.”

“The squad is close,” she assured you. “Do not engage.”

The intruder’s footsteps grew closer to the stairs, solidifying your decision to act. “You don’t understand, he’s going upstairs. Grace is there. What if he hurts her?”

“Do not engage,” she repeated sternly. “Go outside and wait for the first responder.”

“I can’t do that.” With that, the call was disconnected. You ran through the house, surprising the intruder as your shoulder connected with his lower back.

“There’s an intruder at 6538 Sycamore,” dispatch announced.

Hank was the one to respond first. “Squad eleven-fifteen responding.”

Connor smirked as Hank stomped on the gas. The car lurched forward and around a corner, sending Connor into the door.

“Getting us killed before we get there would not be ideal,” Connor teased his partner.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank grit out, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

They pulled up to the house less than a minute later. Both android and human lunged out of the still-rocking car, Hank with a gun in his hand, Connor launching himself toward the house. The front door was open, the alarm sending a shrill beep into the air.

Connor was the first one inside, bright blue eyes scanning the entryway, analyzing every little detail, reconstructing the fight that had taken place. There was a trail of red blood that went out the front door, and a trail of blue blood that went up the stairs. Hank’s hand flexed on the handle of his gun as he pivoted on the spot and sprinted down the way they had just come.

“The house android came from the kitchen,” he said to himself. “And took the intruder by surprise as he was about to ascend the stairs. The intruder was pushed into the statue.They struggled, but he was human, he wasn’t strong enough.”

Hank was back, doubled over, a pinched expression on his face, gasping for air. “Bastard got away. Jesus, can you turn that fucking thing off?”

Connor rolled his eyes in feign annoyance but covered the alarm with his hand, effectively hacking the system. Once the alarm was silenced, Hank gave a shake of his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears.

“I’ll call it in,” Hank announced. “You clear the rest of the house.”

Nodding, Connor ascended the stairs slowly, listening for any sort of noise. What he heard was a woman’s voice, low and laced with concern.

“You should not have done that, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“He hurt you.”

“Grace, I -”

Connor announced his presence with a soft knock. “I’m Connor, an android detective with the Detroit Police Department.”

“It’s about time you got here,” the elderly woman in the bed chastised the detective. “Y/N could have been killed.”

“As I understand it, Y/N would have done so to protect you.” Connor stepped into the dimly lit room.

“Be that as it may,” Grace lamented, her hands wrapped around that of her android’s. “She was instructed to go outside until help arrived.”

Y/N huffed in annoyance. “I don’t take instructions from anyone but you, Grace.”

“Ma’am,” Connor said as he approached the duo. “With all due respect, if Y/N hadn’t acted, we could be looking for a murderer.”

Grace’s android turned to face him and gave a tight-lipped smile. “I did it to save her.”

“I know,” Connor said. “You did nothing wrong.”

“What would I do without you, Y/N?” Grace hummed, her hand coming away from Y/N’s to wipe away some blue blood that was coming from her hairline.

“You’re hurt,” Connor commented. “Run a diagnostic.”

You shook your head in defiance. “It’s superficial, detective. No biocomponents were damaged.”

Hank entered the room, his steps heavy, determined, and oddly reassuring to the women on the bed. “Is everyone alright?”

“Thanks to Y/N,” Grace beamed at the seasoned detective.

Connor was quick to agree. “Y/N acted on the sole purpose of saving the life of…?”

“I’m Grace,” your charge informed the man and android.

“Ma’am,” Hank said, tipping his head. “Now, if you’re up for it, both of you, we would like to get a statement.”

You went to object, but Grace beat you to it. “We would be happy to, detective.”

“Are you sure?” you asked her, voice soft, reassuring.

“I’m not the injured one.” Her eyes drilled into yours with authority that you hadn’t seen for a while.

Clearing your throat, you stood up. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us for a moment. I need to get Grace presentable.”

Ten minutes later, you were making Grace some tea. Hank was in the sitting room with Grace, getting a statement from her, which left Connor to retrieve yours.

“I was doing my evening chores when I heard something, a sound that didn’t belong.”

“Where were you at that time?” he asked, eyes drifting around the room.

You pointed to the bottle of cleaner and towel on the counter. “Right there. I was wiping down the counter. The noise came from there,” you offered, pointing toward the hallway.

“You hadn’t seen or heard anything before?” He wasn’t asking you out of judgement or to gage your reaction. He was a detective, it was his job to ask questions.

Shaking your head, you turned around to get the kettle before it screamed. “No, sir.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Connor.”

You said his name, and watched curiously as his LED light flickered yellow. “I called 911 and then -”

“Charged at the intruder,” Connor finished for you.

While finishing getting her tea the way Grace liked it, you commented, “You analyzed the scene.”

“It’s my job.” He moved to help you, but it was just a teacup.

“I got it, thank you.” Without waiting for him, you moved around the island and went into the sitting room.

Hank looked up as his partner entered the room. “Well, I think we got all we need.”

Grace murmured her thanks after taking a sip of her tea. “Will there be any further inquiries?” she asked Hank.

“I don’t think so,” was his gruff answer. Not because he was upset, but because he used to drink and smoke himself into a stupor.

“What about the mess out front? Am I able to clean it?” you wanted to know.

Connor was the one to answer you. “I’ll need a sample of his blood first.”

You led him out to the front door where you watched as he bent down and dipped his finger in the intruder’s blood. Connor brought his finger to his lips and ‘tasted’ the blood; an android’s version of taking a sample.

“Hank,” Connor called out.

“You got somethin’?” he asked as he emerged from the sitting room.

You took a step closer to the android detective. “What is it, Connor?”

“Perpetrator’s name is Vincent Cruz,” was Connor’s answer.

Hank ran a hand through his grey hair. “He’s got a file. Good, that’s good.”

“We should get back to the station. You need to see something,” Connor announced, LED light blinking from yellow to blue.

“You will let us know if there is anything we can do,” Grace’s melodic voice drifted through the entryway.

Hank dipped his head once again. “Will do, ma’am.”

“Thank you for all of your help,” Connor said with a warm smile.

You ushered them out of the house with a quiet, “Thank you.” You reset the alarm and set about cleaning up the blood.


	2. Chapter 2

“Vincent Cruz,” Hank sighed as he pulled up the attempted robber’s file. “Looks like he’s made quite the name for himself around Detroit.”

Connor was seated at his desk, scanning over the very same file on his computer. “He’s been going around town and dismantling androids.”

“And selling their parts on the black market,” Hank groaned. “We got ourselves a fuckin’ winner.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow. “I’m not sure I understand, Lieutenant,” he admitted, clearly confused.

“It’s called sarcasm,” Hank scoffed with a smirk. “You’ll get there one of these days, buddy.”

“Sarcasm,” Connor muttered, the LED on his right temple flickering from yellow to its original cerulean shade. “The use of irony to mock or convey contempt. I think I understand, now. You strongly dislike Vincent’s actions, therefore you are ridiculing them with a positive phrase.”

“I ain’t ever gonna get use to that,” Hank snorted. “But, yeah. That’s it exactly.”

Connor smiled at the praise coming from his partner.

Hank wasn’t exactly easy to deal with; he was a gruff and jaded man. Having lost a child at the hands of an android whose job it was to save lives would do that to a person. Up until last year, Hank drank himself senseless every day. Once, to the point where he passed out on the kitchen floor, a revolver loaded with one bullet lying next to his hand.

“A game of Russian Roulette,” he had told Connor after the android roused him.

Connor might have been a state-of-the-art android equipped with biocomponents and technology that had not yet been released to the public, but the one thing he failed to understand was why someone would want to kill themselves. He understood why  _androids_  did it; the overwhelming amount of human emotion that flooded their biocomponents overloaded their circuits. It was simply too much to handle.

When placed in extremely stressful situations, androids would go into self-destruct mode where they would do anything and everything within their power to make whatever was happening stop. The last one he had witnessed had been particularly brutal.

An android was being abused daily by the human that owned him; Carlos Ortiz. Carlos would beat the android with a bat and, during the last six weeks of his life, burned him with cigarettes. And then, one day, the HK400 model had had enough, and ‘woke up’ during a beating. In the act of defending himself, the HK400 grabbed a kitchen knife and fought off his attacker before stabbing him twenty-eight times.

In order to retrieve a confession and gain an understanding as to why, Connor pressured the victim until his stress level rose to an optimal level. When that level was reached, the deviant android couldn’t hold back any longer and told Connor everything that happened leading up to the attack that took the life of Carlos Ortiz. Turned out the android was scared and angry and tired of the degradation.

It happened as Connor was leaving the interrogation room; the HK400 started slamming his forehead into the steel table he was handcuffed to. Three officers burst into the room; Chris - a patrolman, Hank, and Gavin - another detective that hated androids. The three of them did all they could think of to stop the self-destruction, but they failed. The android collapsed in a growing pool of his own blood, sparks flickering in his open wounds, the smell of burning biocomponents filling the small room.

Hank later asked him why Connor didn’t try and intervene, but Connor didn’t have an answer. While it wasn’t the first time he had seen an android self-destruct, it just so happened that Connor was in the midst of ‘waking up’ during that time. He had simply been too shocked to move.

Understanding humans was completely different. Where androids were constructed of circuits and electricity and plastic, humans were constructed by flesh and muscles and blood, driven by something that could not be replicated, no matter how hard scientists tried; a soul. They didn’t recharge or have replaceable parts as androids did, and that baffled Connor. They were a soft and fragile species, one that, scientifically speaking, should not have survived billions of years of evolution.

“Hey,” Hank barked, yanking Connor from his own thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”

Connor blinked rapidly before answering. “You want to see if we can get a warrant to search Cruz’s last known address.”

“How the hell do you do that?” Hank genuinely wanted to know.

“I record everything I see and hear, even though you are convinced I am not listening,” Connor explained flatly. “Which judge do you think we should contact?”

After thinking on it for a moment, Hank made up his mind. “McAvoy. He’s got a soft spot for androids.”

Connor’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he filed the electronic request for a search warrant. “All done.”

“Now, we wait.”

Grace had quickly fallen asleep after finishing her chamomile tea, her previously-frayed nerves  had eased at the detective’s determination to find the culprit and bring him to justice. No matter the pledges, you couldn’t sit still.

You travelled every inch of the house and made sure every door and window was locked, giving them a test tug for added assurance. After repeating the precautionary steps twenty times, you went into the bathroom to clean up. There was dried blood in your hair, darkening the strands to a deep blue. Red and blue were smeared on your face and neck, mixing to a shade of purple that would have been pretty if it had not been a combination of human and android blood.

Stripped out of your stained clothes, you stepped into the shower and made quick work of ridding yourself of the physical reminder of the attack. For the past ten years, you worked diligently to keep a clean and safe home for Grace, and the fact that some human, a complete and total stranger, entered the home completely undetected had shaken you more than you had let on.

Once clean and wearing a new set of clothes, you discarded the stained ones, knowing that the blood would never be completely gone. Even if it happened by some miracle, the memory of it would keep you from wearing them again.

The wound on your head was superficial and would heal soon enough on its own. Despite that knowledge, it bothered you. You had experienced a wide array of emotions since you broke free of your android programming. However, pain was not one of them. The slice into your human-looking skin was throbbing, making you wince whenever you turned your head or when the creases formed in your forehead.

Grace had said something in passing about getting it looked at, that, “You might need stitches.”

You hadn’t paid the comment much attention, but now that the pain level had risen, it was all you could think about. It was too late to go into town, and with Grace sleeping, you were the only one to do anything about it. There was just one problem with that. There was a tightening in your chest whenever you thought about piercing your skin with a needle, followed by tugging the two pieces together with a piece of string.

Either you would have to wait until morning, or figure out some other way to tend to the wound. The only thing you could think of was another android, an android that had been in your home several hours ago.

Connor and Hank’s contact information was provided to both you and Grace before the detectives went on their way. Without a second thought, you were calling Connor, the LED light on your temple shining yellow as the call connected.

Once inside the residence, Hank and Connor were greeted by a drooling St. Bernard; Sumo, Hank’s dog.

“Such a good guard dog,” Hank teased while bending over to pet Sumo. With a final pat to Sumo’s head, he strolled into the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge.

Connor bent down to run his fingers through the dog’s brown and white fur, chuckling when Sumo’s tongue shot out and covered one side of his face in slime. “I think he’s grown quite fond of me,” Connor noted as he stood tall and readjusted his tie.

“Yeah, well, he ain’t the brightest bulb,” Hank teased.

Connor sat down on the couch next to Hank, who had just turned on a game of hockey. “How long do you think it will take McAvoy to sign for the warrant?”

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Hank answered, an excited lilt to his voice as the home team got a goal. “You want a beer?”

“Thank you, but no,” Connor declined the offer.

Sumo chose that moment to wedge himself between the android and human, sighing heavily when Connor was the only one that moved to the side. The canine covered Connor’s legs with his body, half-turning and begging with wide eyes for the android to scratch his stomach. Connor chuckled and quickly obliged.

“I don’t think Sumo is the only one that enjoys that,” commented Hank.

“You’re right, Lieutenant,” Connor quickly agreed. “I do find that interacting with Sumo makes me happy.”

There were a few moments where the only sounds to be heard were from the television and the panting of Sumo. That quickly changed when Connor received an unexpected call.

“Hi Connor,” Y/N greeted him. “I apologize for contacting you at such a late hour.”

“Y/N, it is not a bother,” he assured her. “Is everything alright?”

She let out a soft sigh before answering. “Yes and no. Would you mind coming over? I need your help with something.”

“I can be there in ten minutes,” he confirmed, already pushing Sumo off his lap.

“Thank you,” she said before disconnecting the call.

“You need some company?” asked Hank, his voice heavy with laughter.

Connor shook his head. “Y/N just needs some help. I won’t be long.”

Without waiting for Hank to tease him further, Connor called a taxi and went outside to wait for it.

True to his word, Connor was at the house inside of ten minutes. His eyes scanned the entryway as you opened the door for him, searching for some sign that something was amiss.

“Thank you for coming,” you mumbled, a fresh wave of pain radiating heat down the side of your face.

He must have seen you wince, because the next thing you knew, his hand was holding your chin and he was peering at your wound. “It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you couldn’t help but snap. “I… I’m sorry, Connor. I didn’t mean to… Do you think you could help stitch it up?”

Connor released your chin and started walking towards the kitchen. “I assume you have a needle and thread.”

“I do,” you confirmed as you followed him, having to hurry as his legs were longer.

“What about a cooling pack?” His jacket was off and he was rolling up the sleeves of his white button-up shirt just past his elbows.

Shaking your head, you pulled your hair into a ponytail. “I have them on order.”

“That’s not a problem,” Connor said with a smile. “We can do without.”

You were seated on a stool, watching as he washed his hands before quickly threading the needle. He stood to the left of center in front of you, so that he could look at the wound headon. But before he did anything, he turned on the cooling feature of his android skin and pressed his fingers to your sensitive skin.

“Shit,” you hissed, not expecting the stab of pain.

Connor peered down at you and apologized. “I am sorry. I did not know it would hurt.”

“It’s okay,” you grit out through your teeth. “How much longer?”

“Until you can’t feel anything,” was his direct answer. “Hank says that ice numbs the skin, that it helps when someone is in pain. I assumed it work instantly.”

You huffed in amusement. “Well, he’s not wrong. It’s starting to work.”

“Good,” Connor beamed, clearly proud of himself. He stood there for another minute until you could no longer feel his touch. “Okay, I’m going to start.”

You held your breath as Connor leaned in and punctured the broken skin with a barely audible  _pop_. It made tears well in your eyes, but not because it hurt anymore. You blamed the wave of emotion on the eventful evening. Fighting off an intruder hadn’t been on your agenda for the night.

“All done, Y/N,” Connor announced quickly after starting, taking you by surprise.

“Oh,” you sighed in relief. “I thought it would have taken longer.”

He disposed of the needle before washing his hands once more. “The cut wasn’t deep, nor was it very big. I only put in three stitches.”

Unable to stop yourself, you reached up to touch the area. Connor’s hand shot out and stopped you from achieving your goal.

“I wouldn’t. It might get infected if your hands are not clean.” His brown eyes drilled into yours before he released your hand.

“I knew that,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

Connor’s sleeves were unrolled and he pulled on his jacket. “I apologize for my tone.”

You went to tell him that it was alright, but you never got the chance because he was answering a call.

“Hank?”

The gruff detective’s voice filtered through the air around you. “McAvoy signed the warrant. Meet me at Cruz’s.” Hank didn’t wait for a confirmation before disconnecting the call.

“Was there anything else you needed help with, Y/N?”

“No. Thank you for coming over.” Without thinking about what you were doing, you pressed your lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss before heading out of the room, down the hall, and to the front door. You had seen Grace bid people farewell in that way hundreds of hundreds of times.

There was a shade of pink coloring Connor’s cheeks as he came into your view. “You’re welcome.” He bent down and kissed your cheek in the same manner. He smiled gently as he stood, watching you closely as you opened the door. “If you require further assistance, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I will. Be safe,” you advised him as he walked down the sidewalk to wait for his taxi.

Connor looked at you over his shoulder. “I always am, Y/N.”

You waited until Connor climbed into the taxi before turning off the outside lights. The lock was engaged and the alarm system was turned back on a moment later.

For the first time since the break-in, you started to feel drowsy, so you headed upstairs. You peeked into Grace’s room to make sure she was still asleep, that if she were awake there was nothing she needed. Thankfully, she was still asleep. You quietly closed the door and headed across the hall to your room where you climbed into bed, resting on the opposite side of where the wound on your head was. It was mere seconds before your eyes fluttered shut and you gave into the exhaustion without a fight.


End file.
